Broken Scars
by redleton
Summary: Oneshot; Red is hurt and Liz offers her help - bringing them closer than ever. Lizzington


**A/N: This is my very first Blacklist Fanfiction and I am still trying to figure things out (I came to watch the show when S2E3 aired). English is not my native language. **

**Though I´d like to keep up a mystery - this is pure Lizzington, some angst I guess? And somehow the end is kind of...open.**

**I do not own any characters. **

**Have fun reading!**

"I am fine, sweetheart."

His overly faked smile vanished when he forced himself up and he looked at her. She stared at him. Eyes wide with a reddish undertone and only the slightest hint of wetness in them. He felt that small flinch under his left eye, bit the inside of his cheek. He was good with feisty Lizzie. Even angry Lizzie was quite fun at times. But the Lizzie standing right in front of him. That was something he never wanted to get accustomed to.

"I am sorry, Red", she forced out and stepped a little bit closer, clearly uncomfortable. For only the briefest of moments he wondered why on earth Dembe would let her come in. But then again he had never claimed that he didn't like a woman in his bedroom.

"There is nothing to be sorry about, Lizzie." She closed her eyes and shook her head, taking another step forward.

"What happened today, I…" The words died on her lips, her hands tight as fists at her sides. It had been a rather frustrating day. It took him all day to finally make contact to an old _friend _though admittedly their friendship had been better in the past, before Red had slept with his friend's wife. He couldn't even remember her now, it was a faint memory, sort of.

_"You slept with his wife and you expect him to actually help us? What is wrong with you?" _

_She had been outrageous about it. Slapped his arm and forced him to focus on her. He didn't felt ashamed or even embarrassed to talk about past sexual encounters. But he couldn't afford her to let anything slip. You don't tell your enemies that you are friendly with the FBI, at least not in his business. _

_He'd turned to her then, took her shoulders and put her under a very intense glare. _

_"Let me handle this, sweetheart. You can punish me later in whatever way you prefer" he had told her with a genuine smile. He loved teasing her._

_But when her eyes suddenly widened and she pulled him forcefully into her, he had felt that pain. That cruel pain all over his back. He could literally hear how a knife cut through his thin jacket, the vest and dress shirt and finally his skin. _

_Another slow second and she had pulled her gun, one shot, another, and another. He remembered falling to his knees. The pain, he remembered the pain of opened scars. _

The pain that was coming back. For once he took the painkillers without complaint. Red couldn't recall everything that had happened. He still saw Liz' scared eyes, when she assumingly had seen the extent of his wound. He did remember Dembe storming in, but that was it. It was still unknown where the knife had come from, what exactly they had been talking about before. It was nagging at him, somehow. But he wouldn't ask those questions out loud. He took them with him, let them accompany him in silence.

He focused on his Lizzie again, knit his brows trying to figure out what she was looking for. Here. With him.

She of all the people had touched his back, carefully, tried to help. She had touched his back when it had been cut open and it had felt so _wrong_.

"Clearly my attention was elsewhere when it had to be on the man in my back" he stated matter-of-factly. Her eyes found his again, clearly in despair.

"Don´t put this on me, Reddington."

He laughed at that.

"But it seems you want me to."

Again that stare of her. As if she was trying to figure something out. Him, maybe. Silence surrounded them. Like it always did. They communicated the best when they weren't talking. And for him, who always depended on words it was a very new experience.

"It wasn't your fault. I am as responsible for what happened today as you are Elizabeth." He forced himself to look away. Slowly he reached for his vest on the bed and folded it neatly onto a chair near the bed. He hated wrinkles on his clothes.

In the corner of his eyes he saw her approaching. Slowly, cautiously and expectant if he would stop her.

„Your shirt is soaked with blood, Red. "

A small smile passed over his face at her words. He turned to her, his body almost touched hers, it had been a long time since she had been that close. Willingly. He could see the concern in her eyes. She rarely showed her emotions these days. He missed that side of her. The open book Lizzie once had been.

„I need to change the bandages anyway", he concluded. The pain had gotten worse and it took quite a lot of effort to not show her h is discomfort. He could feel the blood slowly creeping down his spine. A really uneasy feeling.

For once in his life he looked forward to lie in a bed.

"Let me do it."

He tried to not react to her words. To simply shut off any emotion that hit him in that very moment. As much as he wanted her to touch him, anywhere, he couldn't.

"Don't worry, Dembe is really gifted when it comes to medical care."

But she didn't move instead she put her hand on his chest and just stared at him. Slowly her hand moved to the first button of his shirt. And another one. Only when she reached for the last button he took hold of her hand tostop her.

Her eyes faltered, slipped to his chest, that was now free to be observed, back up at his lips and finally settled on his eyes again.

And just then he knew that he couldn't refuse her anymore. _That _moment he knew would come someday. He had been waiting for.

He nodded for whatever reason, her hand still in his firm grip. Her free hand opened the last button, her fingers touching his abdomen just slightly. But enough to get that twitch of his eye back.

Slowly she pulled him away from the chair, making room for them. Red let her hand go and ever so slightly he turned his back to her.

He felt his Lizzie´s hand on his shirt, how she carefully dragged it down his shoulders. And then there was the moment when she seemed to realize that his back wasn't only covered in cuts, but in scars. Burn scars. Gashed burn scars.

He could feel her retreat. And it hurt so much more than any wound ever could. Red didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't anything.

"I need to wash off the blood, it might hurt." She hadn't left? He clenched his fists. Her voice was so small, so broken. From the corner of his eyes he saw her pull a chair besides them, a washcloth in a bowl of water, a towel over the back of the chair.

It worried Red that she wasn't acknowledging what she saw. He had always assumed she would yell at him, tell him how dare he put himself into her life, how dare he even looked at her. Instead she was silent and treating his wounds, washing his back. She rinse the washcloth and he felt it sliding over his back, carefully.

"Lizzie talk to me." His voice was tight with emotion and pain. Somehow it was a relief that she couldn't see his face. He heard a quiet sniffle. His heart pounded harder.

"I…I saw it before", she admitted. "Dembe wanted to cover the cuts before we left. He took off your vest and shirt." She rinsed the washcloth again, the water´s color turning bloody red immediately. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Don't…don't be mad at him, please."

He shook his head, couldn't trust his voice this time.

"But I wasn't sure." A sob escaped her throat and the washcloth didn't move anymore. It left his skin. Another sob.

He wanted to turn around, to hug her – comfort her, but for once he was afraid of what he would see. The almighty Raymond Reddington scared of a woman's rejection. But not any woman he concluded. It was his Lizzie and she meant so much more.

He lost track of time but it felt like hours when she returned to the task at hand. Silence fell over them again and this time he didn't break through it.

It was a relief when he couldn't feel the blood anymore. His back felt free, like it was breathing again but was soon to be covered with bandages. A clinical smell spread around them. Once upon a time that smell had made him sick. He got used to it, though he wasn't sure when exactly that had happened.

Every once in a while he heard a sniffle or quiet sob, felt when she would stop and probably wipe off some tears of her cheeks.

When she was bandaging his wound he could see her hands when the bandage passed over his abdomen. She forced her hands not to shake, but failing miserably.

The bandage reached its end in front of him and her she tried to fix the end on something, blindly. He took it from her and turned around his eyes focused on his abdomen and fixed the loose end.

But then it was all done and he still didn't look up.

She was _so _close.

Her hands came up and she covered his cheeks, forced him to look at her. Her face was so red and covered with tears. It hurt him to see her like that and to know that he was the reason.

"I appreciate your help, Lizzie" he whispered, his voice rough. "You should get some sleep."

He freed himself from her grip and didn't wait for her to leave or to do anything at all. Slowly he rounded the bed that suddenly seemed so big and sat down on it, carefully and with much more pain than he had expected.

He saw the small bottle of pain medication on the night table where Dembe had placed them, always in sight for him. He took it and swallowed one. A second so that it numb his brain for the night.

He didn't care about his pants, he was in no way to pull them off. It had took him forever to somehow get rid of his shoes and socks.

He knew that Lizzie hadn't left the room. She probably still stood at the exact same spot he had left her. He couldn't stop the painful moan when he tried to lie down on his side, facing away from her. The blanket was much too far away. He would regret not making an effort to get it in the morning.

Some time went by when he felt the bed dip. She wouldn't…would she?

A sob she couldn't keep down forced its way out. Why couldn't she yell at him?

"I remember my father pulling me out of the fire." Another sob, a deep breath. "The only memory I have of my real father is that he saved my life that night." He closed his eyes. He closed them hard and it hurt. Red didn't wanted to take her only memory of her father from her. He made her hurt so much. Everything she ever depended on simply vanished with him. Sometimes he regretted that. But then again he knew it was worth, so worth.

"I am not your father" he stated clearly. "I never wanted and never will be your father, Lizzie." Something between a chuckle and sob escaped her and the mattress dipped a little bit more.

"Red…" She felt her coming closer and his eyes opened again. He was so sensitive when it came to her. "I can't remember that I ever said I wanted you to be my father."

He felt her arm coming around him, watched her hand searching for his. Slowly he offered her one of his hands letting her small finger close around his so much bigger ones.

Carefully and cautious about his wounds she pressed up on him. He felt her breath in his neck. How she tried to control her breathing.

„Don´t let this cloud your judgment, Lizzie." His voice was cracked, smaller than he ever remembered it to be. "Don't make me heroic when I am only selfish."

Her hand tightened around his, her breathing still uneasy and labored.

"No", she whispered so very close to him. "You are only human, Red."

He felt the soft touch of her lips on his neck, her fingers impossibly tight around his and he knew that he couldn't ever forgive himself for what he knew would be their fate.

It had been so long, since anyone had told him something so beautiful.


End file.
